


"That rotten Plato"

by eyeslikerain



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: Alec's POV, Clive is loosening up considerably, Clive's POV, M/M, a tiny bit of plot if you look close enough, the Goblin House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13997925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikerain/pseuds/eyeslikerain
Summary: „I liked your hands on my hips today. There at the Goblin House.“„Is that so?“ I blinked and leaned against the wall. He followed, leaning slightly into me and tightening his touch on my hips.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kimbeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimbeen/gifts).



> ...for being a patient, knowledgeable, wise and inspiring discussion partner. Thanks for letting me clutter your comment space!
> 
> ********************
> 
> Sorry for the confusing change of perspective midway. But I couldn't imagine Clive narrating what happened. So, the first and last part are from Clive's perspective, the middle is Alec.

(CLIVE) When I asked mother to assign the Blue Room to Maurice, I had no idea what blissful times lay ahead of us. I knew we would feel the need to escape the houseparty as often as possible. I didn‘t expect we would create and cherish our haven of liberty and full tranquillity as much as we did. Maurice was delighted at the prospect of staying in a rarely used part of the house, with our very own staircase and no need to be considerate of the other guests. Of course, my bedroom was still downstairs, but we soon got used to staying up very late in what we called „our“ study, and more than once, the first birds were awake already when I sneaked down into my own room, as noiselessly as possible. 

We maintained our college ritual of coffee, brandy and pipes after dinner. And as in Cambridge, I sat on the floor, my head leaning at Maurice‘s knee. He played innocently with my hair, like he used to in school. And here, strangely, I forgot my internal struggles. I had long since felt that this was a door the devil might slip in, that temptation lurked around the corner whenever I enjoyed his caresses too much. But suddenly, I didn‘t care as much anymore. These were our nights. This was our very own short vacation, away from everything ordinary. A long way from the Dean and his contempt for the „unspeakable vices of the Greeks“. I was far from giving in to temptation, mind you, and I was decided to conserve our friendship as pure and clean as possible. But I couldn‘t deny I liked Maurice‘s hands on me more than ever, and I longed for his closeness.

 

Late one night, when looking up to him and raising my hand to his cheek, I said:

„Too bad there is no sofa in here. Would love to be closer to you.“

He met my gaze, kind and soft, as he always was, and offered:

„Would you like to come up? Like - ?“

I guess we both remembered the interrupted moment at college he alluded to. I nodded and slowly, slowly climbed up. We piled somewhat queer and cramped on the chair, but I managed to hide my face at his neck and curled up, breast on breast and flooded with happiness. Maurice inhaled audibly and I heard his rather fast pulse under my ear, but he started to stroke my back very gently and lovingly, and soon my emotional turmoil ceased and I just wanted this: to be close to him, to be stroked like a little child, to smell and feel him. 

 

We stayed like that for a long time until he shifted uncomfortably under me and the chair creaked a bit. Reluctantly, I got up:

„Sorry, I am squashing you. Forgive me.“

„No!“, he replied, taking my hands into his warm ones. „Don‘t go!“

I got on my knees and put my head onto his legs, hugging his knees and stroking them.

„The chair will break. Let‘s stay like that.“

He scratched the skin at the base of my scalp, leaned down and whispered into my ear:

„We don‘t have a sofa, but there is my bed in the next room.“

I froze. My fingers clawed into his trousers as anxiety clawed at my heart and I blurted out without thinking:

„Maurice, two men in a bed – no. It‘s filthy.“

He sighed and combed my hair gently:

„Calm down, dear. It can be filthy, but that‘s not at all what I had in mind. I just thought we can stretch out there a bit, make ourselves a bit more comfortable. I tell you, I am not accustomed to riding anymore, my legs hurt somewhat bad.“

„Come on, Maurice, your legs cannot hurt!“

He smirked:

„Worth a try… No, seriously: just laying together. Pure and chaste. Your Plato would be proud of us.“

I watched him silently. Inwardly, my heart jubilated at the prospect of getting even nearer to him. But I feared we might not know where and when to stop. That our caresses would blur into something more carnal, more passionate. Something I wished so much to do and I feared so much. I didn‘t know if I had enough restraint to stay pure. But my thoughts were interrupted by Maurice getting up slowly and taking my hand. He looked at me kindly, his eyes dark and liquid in the dim light, and I let myself be dragged tenderly towards the dark bedroom. 

 

It was chaste and tender, our first real night together. We lay on the bed, fully dressed except for our jackets and waistcoats, and he behaved gentle and impeccable. Our touching didn‘t cross the line I had drawn, we didn‘t kiss on the lips, nothing disturbing happened. Maybe the most disturbing thing was my longing, my burning longing for him after I had returned secretly and furtively like a thief to my own room when morning dawned. Finally slipping into my own bed, I had the most unpleasant, vicious visions of the two of us, unrestrained, without any clothes, unbridedly doing what I am sure he longed to do as well. I was vexed by my hallucinations to a degree that I thought about giving up these prolonged evenings. Maybe consent to a small coffee and brandy, for friendship‘s sake and in order to not raise too many questions from him, but not entering that slippery road of carnal closeness we lingered on. One false step, and we were well on our way to hell and disrespectability.

 

But when I thought of him, his soft skin when I kissed his cheek, his warm, silken fingers, his great beauty, I knew I couldn‘t keep away from him. Not as long as we stayed under the same roof. Sometimes, I even longed for him to take the first step. Which I would reject, of course, because that‘s who I am. Not inclined this way. Pure and manly. But I wished he would just take me in his arms, swipe me off my feet and make it finally happen. In a storm, so I wouldn‘t have any chance to resist. Couldn‘t think anymore. Wouldn‘t care what it meant for the rest of my life. Silence my brain at last. Oh for all what‘s holy, how can I wish something like that…

 

 

***************************

 

 

When I was making coffee the next evening in our study, Maurice came up behind me. He surprised me by gently laying his hands onto my hips and turning me towards him: 

„I liked your hands on my hips today. There at the Goblin House.“

„Is that so?“ I blinked and leaned against the wall. He followed, leaning slightly into me and tightening his touch on my hips.

„Oh yes“, he mumbled close to my ear. His breath tickled. „It felt so very good. I wish Simcox hadn‘t shown up on his squeaky old bicycle.“

„The old bat!“, I chuckled. I was feeling much more of Maurice‘s delicious warm body than I could take. His long legs fitted perfectly against mine, our groins were dangerously close and his face brushed mine when I tried to look into his eyes. They were loving and calm, and I couldn‘t but search his hips with my hands, almost out of reflex, like it had happened this morning. 

 

„Ah yes, that‘s the way“, he sighed. My heart skipped a beat. I hadn‘t meant to encourage him and looked up terrified. In this moment, the little coffee machine started to burble. Maurice smiled, turned and took it out of the fire. In a swift motion, he came back to me and pinned me to the wall even more. I could feel – all of him. I gasped. 

„Maurice, please...“

He graced my hips again, my thighs a bit, my hips. His hands seemed to be all about my lower half and I became rather uncomfortable. Though it was delightful at the same time. I was utterly confused when he whispered:

„I wonder how they would feel on my pyjama bottoms.“

My eyebrows shot up and I tried to withdraw. He held me gently:

„Come on, did you never think about it?“

I shook my head weakly. I had, but that‘s not a thing to admit to, is it?

 

„I even wonder how they feel when...“ His voice trailed off and he looked at me. I couldn‘t take my eyes off him. He was pure desire, on the brim of losing himself, and I realized this was the most dangerous situation we had ever been in. One of us should a keep a clear mind. But why always me? I felt my defences crumble. I was so tired of always denying my body what it wanted so madly.

„How they feel on your bare skin? That‘s what you wanted to say?“

He looked at me, incredulous and utterly surprised.

„Yes“, he managed to whisper hoarsely. He pressed into me even more, grind his hips against mine and I felt his arousal, unmistakably and imperative. I gave in and did the same, slowly at first, tentatively, but then a hot surge of pure bodily want flodded me and I grabbed his hips violently and pressed them against mine as close as I could. His lips smashed with mine – we had wanted this kiss, both at the same time. It was the messiest, sloppiest, most urgent kiss we had ever shared. The filthiest, the most heavenly one. I had never known I wanted to kiss as wickedly as we did, but it was all I wanted: to get as close to him as possible, to abandon myself completely, to unite with him and become one.

 

My heart raced and I felt hot all over when Maurice‘s hand slipped between us. I opened my eyes wide when I felt a light brush on my groin. Maurice did as well, held my gaze and started to stroke me deliberately. His eyes were on mine all the time. Until I closed mine, that is, because I feared to lose my senses if I saw and felt him at the same time. I slouched back against the wall, almost slid down on it because my knees had become weak. I felt Maurice‘s strong, hot hand on my back, above my buttocks, and his touch shot straight into my heart and my groin. I forgot everything I had ever pledged: purity, platonic friendship, restraint from sensuality. All I wanted, all I could think of was to become one with Maurice‘s wild, naked body. I heaved myself upwards, supporting myself on Maurice‘s shoulders, and breathed into his ear:

„Take me to bed. Now.“

 

He kissed me with parted lips and licked into my mouth while he started to unbutton my waistcoat. I did likewise, between kisses, and worked on his shirt also. He ripped my shirt out of my trousers and unbuttoned those without asking. I gasped when his hand slid onto my drawers where he would be awfully aware of my arousal. But was there really something to be ashamed about, I wondered? The old Clive would have cringed at the question alone. My new self was even proud to pay Maurice a compliment by being excited in such a visible way. And so I leaned into his touch, squeezed his buttocks and licked his earlobe, kicking my trousers all the way down and struggling with them. 

 

Maurice smiled, leaned down and helped me to step out of them. On his way up, he cupped my straining groin with one hand. A new wave of heat shot through me and I was uncertain if we would ever make it to the bed in time. I tore at his shirt and liberated him from it together with his waistcoat, a muddled mess, giving a soft tearing sound. He smirked. Impatiently, I pushed his undershirt up. He lifted his arms and we pushed and pulled together to get it over his head. His golden, tousled hair flashed when his head reappeared. We smiled at our impatience before I drew him into a new kiss and touched his naked torso desperately, hungry and greedy and without being ashamed of it. How hot his skin was. And how soft. I clawed at him and pulled him closer. 

 

He put a hand onto my stomach and, looking straight into my eyes, slipped his fingers right into my drawers, right through my wiry hair there and firmly onto the source of my pleasure. I almost fainted with delight when I felt his familiar fingers so intimately on me. He still looked at me when he thumbed slowly and tantalisingly over my tip. Seemingly content with my reaction, he closed his eyes and leaned in to meet my lips, stroking now the whole length of me before he gripped me and started to pump me slowly. I couldn‘t suppress a moan and was amazed at how strange I sounded. Undone, without any restraint, like an animal. Who was this person? What part of me had come to life? But there was no use thinking about that unknown Dionysian side of myself. I felt a gigantic wave building deep in my abdomen and knew I couldn‘t stop it now. I had to give in, abandon myself, soil Maurice‘s beautiful hands with my filth. At the same time, it wasn‘t filth anymore, it wasn‘t bad. It was all I was living for, and should I have had to die from it, I would have gladly chosen this way. 

 

Maurice looked at me with glassy eyes. There were tiny beads of sweat on his forehead and his body was strangely twisted. It took me some seconds to realize that he had his other hand in his own trousers and touched himself, violently and with almost clenched teeth, while still stroking my privates. And that did it. The thought of the two of us getting off together swept me off my feet. Clinging into his moist back, I pushed into his hand and was shaken thunderously by my own orgasm. He followed soon after with a muffled sound and a moan, collapsing on my neck while he still had both hands on our groins. 

 

I let my head sink onto his shoulder. The smell of carnal love arose between us and mixed with the scent of hot coffee. I couldn‘t believe it, we had boiled over almost as quickly as the coffee. Maurice took his hand out of my underwear and, breathing heavily, wiped it discreetly on my thigh before placing it on my hip again, in exact the same position we had started in. He smiled wrily when he noticed that I recognized the touch. Exhausted, he leaned his cheek against mine and exhaled heavily near my ear. Despite my wobbling legs, I drew him closer and tried to support him, give him some steadiness and allow him some rest. He had done most of the job, after all. I had leaned comfortably against the wall.

 

„Sorry, I know you wanted the bed.“

„It‘s allright. More than allright“, I muttered, kissing his salty temple.

„Clive? Do you regret anything?“

I shook my head: 

„No. How could I.“

 

We looked at each other seriously. Maurice touched my shoulder, my crumpled shirt so tenderly that I was utterly moved. Dear Maurice. He was concerned to have frightened me whereas I had never been as happy in my life! I pondered about how to tell him without sounding as sappy as I was actually feeling but couldn‘t find the words. So I kissed him, long and slow and gentle, to reassure him everything was allright.

 

 

**************************

 

 

(ALEC) Mist and light rain drizzling from the trees when I took a stroll into the woods at twilight. Soaking me, my head, my shoes, but I don‘t mind. Like that moist weather, the earth giving away so many smells, grass growing and all of nature drinking and refreshing itself. Glad we had some sun, though, because them apricots here taste a lot better if their cheeks are a bit more rosy. 

Oh, no, shoot, Mr Durham. Have to hide that apricot kernel, or – can I still spit it out? Yes, quick, quick. They don‘t see me yet, they‘s are busy. It‘s Mr Hall with him. I can still chew this delicious apricot and – here we go, all down. So sweet. But what are them doing out here? They stumble arm in arm. Are they drunk? No, now they kiss while walking on. What? I never – I say. Oh, now they sees me. Keep walking on as if nothing had happened, Alec, just looking for rabbits like it‘s my job. They got apart, strolling innocently next to each other. Oh, you can‘t fool me! I try not to grin when we are near enough to talk and shout:

 

„Good evening, Sir, evening, Mr Hall!“

 

„Good evening, Scudder“, Mr Durham replies dutifully, a bit annoyed. Mr Hall nods at me. Cutie, that one. Oh my. They wear sweaters and ordinary shoes. Must have changed from their dinner attire. I wonder why. No accidental stroll, this one. Wait – had to prepare the Goblin House today with Tilda, me lugging this damned heavy basket all the way and her carrying just some grapes and apricots in a tiny little basket. All that bedlinen, candles, wine, water and glasses – what are they up to? Does Mr Hall have to move out of the big house? Did he misbehave? Oh, I would surely love to misbehave some more with him… 

Maybe I can get back later on, when he‘s alone in that house? Those shoulders, look at them, and the hair. Would love to touch hair like his‘s. Let me just get into this shrubs here, want to see what they are up to. Never a guest slept in that funny little house. Let me look. Oh, they‘s holding hands again! Mr Durham looked over his shoulder and didn‘t see me, and now – really, holding hands. I say. Very strange thing. 

 

They arrive at the Goblin House, climb the stairs, smiling at each other – would that Mr Hall smile at me this way some day! - and Mr Durham gets the key out of his pocket. I knew. But – wait, wait, is it true? Mr Hall puts his hand on Mr Durham‘s buttocks? And doesn‘t get slapped for it? And he leans in to kiss the back of his neck? Does me eyes betray me? They didn‘t seem drunk. So the only explanation is – oh, Mr Durham is looking back again. Cautious, this one. Doesn‘t see me. Pulls Mr Hall into him for a long, long kiss on the mouth. Did I ever… Now that‘s interesting. 

And now, they put both their hands on the knob and push the door open slowly, together, looking oh so deep into their eyes. I say. More romantic those two than most freshly marrieds I seen. Really curious. Glad I was here on time!

And now? Wonder if Mr Durham will get back to the big house. Doubt it. Will wait a little while. Cannot believe Tilda and me prepared a secret love nest? Had joked `bout it, tried the mattress a bit with her before putting the sheets on. Got good and far under her skirts, at last. Think we are close to – oh, now look, there is a wavering light upstairs in that little house, right where we made the bed under the cupola. Now we are getting at something. Some more light – they must light the candles I had lugged here. Had hoped to get a peek inside from the large windows downstairs, but no good now if they are upstairs. Need to get onto something – here, this here tree will do. 

 

Softly, softly. Near enough, that‘s good. Will hang me bag and gun on this twig. Yes, up a bit more. That‘s a good place to sit, can lean on the trunk and make meself comfortable, even stretch a leg if I want. So. Glad Tilda wiped this large oval window. Wouldn‘t want a hazy, dusted view of what‘s – oh, oh! Holy cow! They are kissing for real now! Almost devouring themselves! Cannot believe me eyes!

 

Guess this will get more interesting, can see now where it‘s going. Mr Hall is tearing the sweater and shirt off Mr Durham as if his life depended on it, getting rid of his own things also. Mr Durham unbuttons Mr Hall‘s trousers and helps him out of them, kissing all the time, behaving like cats in heat. Never thought he would be so wicked. Both of them. Wicked. What a pleasure to watch gentlemen misbehave. Oh, my shoe, almost slipping off this damp tree! Let me see – so, that‘s better.  
Now, where are they? Oh, naked already. Wonderful. Really start to enjoy that myself. Got on to the bed, still kissing, rolling around and licking at each other. Yes, yes, go on. Gorgeous to watch them both naked. Mr Durham‘s not too bad, too, but Mr Hall – oh, look here! Did I ever – cannot believe my eyes, again: Mr Hall is sitting on the edge of the bed, legs open, supporting himself on his arms, and Mr Durhams head disappeared between them legs. For all that‘s holy… Now this is advanced wickedness. If that‘s what they are teaching at this university, then… Well. 

Goodness, look at Mr Hall in the candlelight, all naked and aroused. So, so gorgeous, this one. Look at them shoulders, that chest, his beautiful head thrown back… Oh Sir, let me do this to you. I gladly would. I want to suck you, all of you… Throwing his head back even more, biting his lips, getting a hand into Mr Durham‘s hair… Wonder how this one explains his hair looking like that to his mother when he kisses her goodnight. 

 

Oh god, Mr Hall, sir, let me work you. Let me… my trousers strain me somewhat awful, need to just… here we go, just open them a bit, to get some breathing space… oh, pet, come here, you need some attention also when watching something like that, don‘t you? Best get him out completely, now come here, ooooooh, oh yes, need to touch myself otherwise… Fuck, almost slipped off that damn tree! Now that would be something, to be found with broken neck and me prick in me hands… Simcox smirking at my funeral… No. Would rather be a gentleman on this posh, soft bed there. Oh well. Yes, yes, let‘s go on.

 

Aha, Mr Durham climbed up to hug Mr Hall. He didn‘t finish, now did he? Was distracted, always bad if you are out in the woods at night, need to be more watchful…. Mr Durham laying on top of Mr Hall, kissing again. He ist the most kissed man in England, to be sure. No bad sight, those two. Now Mr Durham slips down and lands on his side, giving me full view of his pretty buttocks. Can‘t complain. They hug and stroke each other and kiss some more, that‘s my guess, and now Mr Hall‘s hand wanders down the back and gets himself a good handful of this buttock. I would too, just go ahead, sir. Yes, squeeze it and cuddle it, am sure your friend likes that. 

 

Oh, and now – one hand wanders really, really deep and – oh. Oh. They won‘t – cannot believe my luck. Cannot believe they might go for – oh, think he does. Mr Durham throws a leg over his friend and presses into him, opens himself even more, and Mr Hall‘s hand is disappeared between... Ahh. Need to just give myself some strokes. Fuck, will come twice before those two arrive at some real action. 

 

And now they talk! No!! Cannot believe it! Now this is some college nonsense, to be sure. Do they need to talk now? Come on, I was getting so close! And again some more deep eye looking, well, don‘t you think you had enough of that? And – no more hole teasing, the hand wanders back up on the back. Fuck. Mr Durham doesnt‘t let him in. Oh, take me, sir, I would gladly – oh, Mr Hall is turning Mr Durham on his front, kisses his back and gets up. 

That can‘t have been all? Please! Do I need to get in to show you how to… oh, Mr Hall again. Carrying something small. Getting something on his hands… I see. Pet, be good, we can go on. Yes, come here. Look, how he is massaging something – oil, I‘d say, into Mr Durham‘s lovely buttocks. Taking all his time to stroke them, kissing his shoulder, his cheek, his lips apparently with his hands still down there. Yes, eyelocking, I know. Going on for ages, but seems the right thing to do, Mr Durham starts to move slowly into the mattress and seems to like it. Some more oil, yes, yesss, now it get‘s interesting. Oh yes, he really does it: seems to slip a finger into this lovely hole. Wonder if it‘s the first time? The sir seems to like it also, wriggles slowly, grinds his hips and lifts them even. Can see Mr Hall‘s finger going in and out. Need to pump me slower, am sooo close myself… 

 

Good gracious, two fingers. Saying something to Mr Durham who nods. God, now he‘s kissing this pretty arse while working him with his fingers. Can‘t hold it much longer! And Mr Durham lifting himself up even more, almost on his knees now… Oh sir, let me do that for you! I would open so nicely and wide for you! You would like my ass, I am sure! I want to have your fingers in me, your cock… Wait, pump slower. Calm, calm. 

 

No, can‘t be calm now: Mr Hall is getting on the bed and coating his gorgeous prick with oil. Let me do that. It‘s my job around here to keep things well-oiled. Why bother yourself, you have me to lend you a hand, let me – Mr Durham‘s moving on his back and they embrace. And kiss some more. No. Come on, move on. I know you can kiss. Finally Mr Hall is touching Durham‘s legs and he opens them nicely, lifts them a bit – yes, that‘s the way! And Mr Hall is getting ready to enter him. They really do it. They do. I, I, I – I can‘t wait any longer, I - oh fucking goodness, how come I shoot so quickly? Oh, some more, wanking it all out of me… Yes. Yesssss. My arse hurts on this here branch. Where did I? Hopefully not on my trousers? Need to get some air, inhale, yes, some more. Hope nobody heard me? And what are they doing?

 

Oh my fucking goodness, they are really fucking. Slowly, indulgently, with lots of strokes on the chest and the arse for Mr. Durham. So – different than me just right now. So gently and slow. Must be very enjoyable. Fuck, I was too quick. Could have enjoyed it in rhythm with them, having a special dance together, the three of us… They look beautiful. Just gorgeous. Not only Mr Hall. Just: the whole picture of it. Looks so loving. Good I came, though. Am calmer now and can enjoy the performance much better. Wow. Look at that. Slowly pumping in and out, in and out, Mr Hall. I sure would like to be fucked like that. Mr Durham is lucky. Hope he knows how much. 

 

Aha, getting a bit quicker? Now, I would… Shit, can‘t get hard again… No! Will fall off this damned tree if I get all excited again. Just calm. Calm. Enjoy watching only… Mr Durham raises his ass even more, if that‘s possible. Yes, do it. Do it like that. Opens one up so nicely, like to do it myself `cause I can take in even more. And now a hand between his legs, his own hand – that‘s perfect, just do it, touch yourself. Makes it so much easier for all. Wish girls weren‘t as afraid to touch themselves as they are. So, let‘s see: Mr Durham‘s working himself, Mr. Hall‘s getting faster and deeper and – oh. Oh. Oh.

 

Need to lean back on this trunk here. Close my eyes. Feel almost filthy. To have seen this moment. To witness – I mean, I never saw that. From the outside, I mean. And it‘s a good thing you usually don‘t. All this excitement before, well, that‘s a different thing. Turning me on, arousing me. But seeing two lovers come undone like that – goodness. It‘s so much a thing between the two of them. Maybe it was wrong to watch. Wish I hadn‘t seen the end, somehow. Was too beautiful. Had I seen only the beginning, I would have grinned at them for the rest of my life. But – the end – it‘s so different. Will blush and avert my eyes if I see them. Guess I shouldn‘t have got onto this tree here… Sorry, Mr Hall. Didn‘t mean to intrude on you like that. I really apologize, sir. Will slip down very softly, very carefully now. Where‘s my bag, no noise, no, my gun, and away quickly and softly like an owl...

 

 

****************************

 

 

(CLIVE) I held Maurice in my arms, laying behind him. We had wrapped the blanket around us as it was chillier in the Goblin House at night than we had anticipated, and cooling down from our lovemaking made it feel even colder. Maurice pressed his lovely body warmly into mine and held my hand. I had kissed his shoulder – oh, how many times? I can‘t recall. I was dizzy on happiness, no, more than dizzy, drunk. When I thought of my pulsing rear end, heat flashed into my lower stomach. It had hurt much less than I thought, and it was such an extraordinary, unforgettable feeling to have him so deeply and intimately inside me. I was still overwhelmed and knew: I never wanted it differently again. But wait… No, no thoughts of that now. This was our night, solely for self-indulgence and all that was usually forbidden. 

 

Maurice stirred and moved his head to face me. We kissed, very long and affectionate. 

„Clive, my darling. I cannot believe you opened so many doors for me this evening...“, he mumbled.

I blushed and tried to hide my face.

„Don‘t! My beautiful, naughty, very open lover!“

„Stop it! You were the naughty one!“

Maurice smiled and sighed:

„Yes, me too. And – did you enjoy it? I hope I didn‘t…?“

„Nothing hurts, I am fine. More than fine, actually. In heaven.“

„Not hell, I‘m glad?“

„Not yet. That‘s still waiting for us.“

„Come on“, Maurice turned in my arms and faced me. He intertwined our legs, put his hand on my waist and looked at me sweetly.

 

„Why can‘t we do that for the rest of our life?“

„Make love in the Goblin House?“

He nodded. I let my fingers glide through his messy hair:

„Because the fifteen children my mother expects me to have would bang on the door, and my wife would join them and call if we should accept the invitation to the Chadwick – Heskethviews, and Scudder would ask if the gentlemen intended to shoot tomorrow, and I don‘t know how that would affect your ability to...“ 

 

„Scudder may come in.“

„What?“, I asked, amazed. „You fancy Scudder?“

„He‘s cute, don‘t you think?“

„Couldn‘t describe him for the life of me.“ I looked at Maurice. „Servants are to do their job reliably, which he does, but are best invisible.“

Maurice snorted: „My mother and you would get along very well.“

„Well, if that makes you happy...“

 

Cuddling into Maurice, I groped for his wonderful, now softly curled privates and he smiled. But there was sadness in his smile. He asked:

„Do you really want this life?“

I shook my head and tried to escape his gaze:

„No, of course not. Not at all, believe me. But I will have to grow to like this sort of life because that‘s what I am to do. I am the only son. I don‘t have any other choice.“

„It‘s your life. You always have another choice.“

„Not if I want to lead the life I am accustomed to. Keep Penge, you know, be respected in my job...“

„But there are bachelors everywhere! Why can‘t you play the misanthropic queer old bachelor, living alone in his big house? People would respect you anyway, I am sure. The more unaccessible, the better.“

„And you would live here in the Goblin House, and except for very cold winters we would meet here and unite until we don‘t know who is who anymore?“

„Yes!“, Maurice smiled delighted.

„So, what would the servants say, can you tell me?“

„They would get used to the idea of your strange permanent houseguest, I am certain.“

„They would blackmail us, rather.“

„Oh come on, they are not that bad, are they? I could be your recently impoverished distant cousin whom you tuck away in that little Goblin House of your‘s. We could live here, in the greenwood, and nobody would care.“

 

I stroked his cheek and his neck and said very gently: 

„There is no greenwood for outlaws like us. Not in England. I wish it were, believe me.“

His eyes grew dark and rather sad.

„Don‘t lets discuss this right now, shall we? I am still so… I can still feel you inside me. It‘s throbbing a bit, but it feels so, so delicious...“

He tightened his grip on my waist and closed his eyes with a moan:

„It was - I cannot find a word. I want to have this all the time with you. Clive, I love you.“

„I love you too. I am so glad it was you who...“

 

We kissed. And kissed some more. He came closer, I turned onto my back and welcomed his head onto my chest. Wrapping my arms around him and stroking him, I watched the flickering flames on the ceiling and started to get sleepy. One of the candles had already given out, the other two would follow soon. I felt safe in our little house in the woods. If there only could be a place like that for us… I wished it as much as Maurice, but at the same time I was more of a realist than he. It would have to be the occasional night, the occasional holiday when my future family was away. Nothing else was possible.


	2. 1934

„Do you remember the gamekeeper working here when we were freshly married? Scudder?“, my wife asked over the breakfast table.

„Who?“ I feigned ignorance, but my heart drummed suddenly in my breast.

„That young lad, dark hair, dark eyes, who disappeared so suddenly? Oh, well, it‘s so long ago, no wonder you forgot the name.“

I looked at Anne and tried to hide my rising panic. Why on earth did she mention Scudder after all that time?

„Well, his mother died and I‘ll go to the funeral this afternoon. Would you care to join me?“

„Why do you go to a former employee‘s mother‘s funeral?", I asked puzzled.

„I visited her over the last months. Poor soul. She had some sort of women‘s cancer“ - I averted my eyes exaggeratedly, telling her without words I didn‘t want to hear more about it - „ and died a slow, painful death. I know you‘re not too interested in what you call my charitable trait, but – I don‘t know, somehow I felt obliged. So I brought her some flowers, some fruit. You are the Squire, after all. We have to look after our families.“

I sighed. How glad I was Anne thrived in this role, even if I thought our six children kept her busy enough.

„Scudder asked after you. He seemed to remember you very well.“

I felt sweat breaking out under my arms:

„He is here?“

„Was here. But he will be back for the funeral, of course.“

„Was he alone?“

„How do you mean? His sisters were there, Mrs. Scudder‘s own sister, all sorts of family. I didn‘t pay much attention, I‘m afraid. No – wait. He was not alone. He has a bunch of nieces and nephews and they seem to adore him. Always clustered around him. He is so sweet with children.“

I swallowed and tried to calm down.

„Was he – I mean, how is he doing? How does he look like, and where does he live?“

Anne eyed me a bit suspiciously. My sudden interest in a person I had claimed to have forgotten was obviously conspicous.

Anne, good and patient wife that she ist, answered kindly: „He looked good, but of course he was under a lot of strain in the days leading up to his mother‘s death. But apart from that, he looks almost like twenty years ago. He told me he is happy. Found himself a place to live, a decent job and lives with the love of his life, as he said. Though I wonder why she never appeared at his mother‘s bed. Well, I guess I will see her this afternoon, then I can tell you more. Unless – oh, maybe she‘s with child? And couldn‘t undertake the train ride?“

My Anne. Seeing babies, pregnant or nursing women everywhere. I was trying to hide the trembling of my knife as I was almost certain there wouldn‘t be many babies for Scudder if he still was with - 

„Clive, darling, is everything all right?“

My knife had slipped out of my shaking hand and fell onto the floor. 

„You look so pale.“

Anne got up concerned and came over to me. Slightly touching my forehead, she exclaimed:

„Why, you are all sweaty and cold! You are not coming down with something, are you?“

„I don‘t know. I feel odd. The coffee was rather strong today, wasn‘t it?“

She shook her head. Leaning a bit away from me and looking serious, she said:

„I guess it‘s better if you take a nap instead of attending the church and the funeral.“

„I think so too. If I‘m not here if you come back, I‘m at the Goblin House.“

„All right, dear.“

 

 

*******************************

 

 

The Goblin House, tucked away in the woods, had become my most important refuge. Sometimes I wondered if my great-great-grandfather had built it for the same purpose, rather remote from the comfortable big house, small and hidden away from casual strollers. He had had six children also and perhaps needed some place to escape from all connected with family life. Anne was so different. I guess women are. More sociable, more concerned with everything having to do with people and bodies and the little developing souls. I liked my children, no question, and I liked to have them sit on my lap occasionally and tell me of their daily adventures, but a few minutes before dinner were enough for me. Not so Anne. She could listen to their gabbling all day long. And she was the heart of everything, the ever warming flame. Without her, the house wouldn‘t be the same and the children would miss her sorely. I was away most of the time, anyway, and they didn‘t mind me absenting myself in my spare time also. At least that‘s the impression I got. 

 

Scudder‘s mother. I never knew Anne had kept in touch with her, but that‘s just Anne: kind, caring, generous. I was sorry I hadn‘t paid more attention to what she told me about her days. The news of Scudder having visited, being here right now most probably, wouldn‘t have hit me so hard. I was wondering if he and Maurice still… Well, I never knew if they actually ended up together. Never heard of him again after that most peculiar visit late at night in the garden before he disappeared for good. Leaving a boat at the other side of the lake. A boat, a motorbike somewhere near Ely – collateral damage on his determined way through life. I smiled, remembering my stubborn friend. He never had been one for ideas, for ideals, for restraint for the sake of a higher good. Always wanted the real thing. Maybe natures like him are happier in life?

 

I never noticed how well trodden this path here has become. Used to be almost invisible when I was young and had my refuges elsewhere… Almost too visible for my taste. Could as well put up a signpost „Secret hiding place this way, please!“. Damnation. But – why my need for secrecy? Nobody will come here anyway. I just would love to be – I don‘t know. Away from everything. This strange, demanding, boring life I was so keen on building is tiring me enourmously. Would I had a dark little tower somewhere where nobody would ever find me…

 

How the key squeaked and rattled when Maurice and I… How well-used the lock is now. Well, at least the lock is in use, if nothing else in my life… Oh, finally alone, I need to sit down. Hell. How can the mention of a name from the past shake me like that? And I really never knew if they ended up together. He said he was in love with… Probably one of Maurice‘s infatuations. Too emotional and romantic, he always was. Too much drawn to the sensual. They had no chance, these two. Would give them six weeks, until passion fades out and reality breaks in. Scudder, of all people. Coming from Cambridge, having a solid middle-class background, and going for a completely uneducated person. No. It certainly was a summer fling, nothing more. Should I just go to the funeral, after all? Sneak up behind the tombstones and look if Scudder is alone? Bet he is. Even if they should still be together, which is highly improbable, I doubt they had the guts to turn up there together. Oh well. Where are – what? No. It‘s impossible. Let me hide next to the window here – it cannot be true. There is a man coming down the path, slowly and seemingly deep in thoughts with the sun behind him and walking slowly on a rare ray of golden light. It‘s – no. I see ghosts. Close my eyes, take a deep breath. Now let me look again – no. I cannot believe it. It‘s Maurice. Maurice.

 

 

***************************

 

Without wanting it, I was drawn to the approaching figure. I had thought about hiding upstairs, but the door was open and he would come in, to be sure. And I couldn‘t but step out and expect him on the little awning at the top of the stairs. He froze when he saw me. My heart leaped. It was Maurice, beautiful, manly, golden as ever. Time had treated him well. He hadn‘t aged much, his posture was still the same. His sight touched me like thunder. I felt transported back in time, as if no time had passed at all. Hesitantly, he climbed the stairs. We still hadn‘t spoken a word. I still was not sure if he was an apparition, a phantom emerging out of the dense green.

 

„I thought I might find you here. I came the clay road, didn‘t want to go to the house first.“

It was his voice. The voice that sent shudders down my spine.

„Maurice, old boy! I say, what a surprise!“ I put on a cheerful face and leapt forward, trying to slap him on the shoulder as of old.

„Clive.“ He approached me, looking grave and unsmiling, but lovingly into my eyes. He took one of my hands and came closer, holding it up between us as if he intended to kiss it. Heat shot through my stomach. I tore it away and took a step back.

„Well, look at you“, I took every effort to sound lighthearted. „Didn‘t change at all. What makes you come here at last?“

He let out some air through his nose audibly and looked at me questioningly.

„I have always wondered how a reunion would look like. Didn‘t expect you turned into such a good actor.“

„What can you mean?“

„Come on, Clive.“ He looked at me silently. I held his gaze. How soft and truthful he seemed. I felt myself crumble, but was not ready to give up the impersonation of the cheerful, successful, happy person I wanted him to believe me to be. My gaze almost wavered as he kept looking at me so sweetly. But I had myself in my hands again:

„I heard about Mrs. Scudder. Is that the reason…?“

I indicated something in the air, a bit helpless and insecure.

„Yes. Yes, it is. I went with Alec on the train, but his family... I didn‘t want - under these circumstances. You know...“

I nodded. So they were still together. I turned and went inside, searching for my cigarettes. Maurice stayed on the doorstep, turning away from me and taking in the woods.

„Didn‘t change at all, this place. Well, the trees seem more than ever, higher and thicker, but still – what a wonderful place you have here.“

„Yes, true. I find peace here. I love to come here.“

He turned his head and looked at me kindly:

„We loved to come here. Didn‘t we?“

I snorted: „Maurice, please.“ My knees had gotten weak.

He just raised his eyebrows, looking at me mischievously, and I couldn‘t but smirk a bit.

„Don‘t let‘s get sentimental, old boy.“

„Why not? If there is ever a place to get sentimental it should be here, I reckon.“

I shook my head: „Maurice, please, you can‘t come here all of a sudden and...“

We looked at each other. There was no tension between us, no anger, even if I sounded like that, just – warmth. Ease. Who had made me feel so at ease, so close to myself in the last time? Nobody, not in years. And now, Maurice – he just needed to look at me and I knew: everything is fine. My other half, the friend of my soul, is here at last. We held our gazes until I couldn‘t stand it any longer and took him slowly into my arms. He hesitated, but gradually, he closed his hands on my back and pressed me lightly to his heart. I stepped closer and stroked his shoulders, burying my nose at his neck. He smelt different. Like woodsmoke, and trains and stations. Earthy somehow, and smoky. But underneath – sweet and somehow like himself, though it was overlayed with different scents. I heard his breath in my ear, then his still familiar voice: 

„Still „Blenheim Bouquet“?

I nodded into his skin, getting nearer his hair.

„Haven‘t smelled that in a long, long time.“ He moved his head on my shoulder. „I always associate it with...“

I drew myself away and blushed: „Maurice!“

„…with Cambridge“, he replied, smirking and enjoying my confusion. The ice was broken. I decided to let my mask down, as he made it so easy for me:

„Come on in. Would you like a drink?“

 

„Yes, please, if you got something – oh, I see. No bare hideaway anymore?“

He looked around approvingly. The room had changed, indeed, since he last saw it. The dampness was a constant problem, but I had furnished it nicely as a study anyway: a writing desk in a window, overlooking the little clearing in the woods, a small sofa and a chair as well as some bookcases. The best addition had been a small wood stove which helped me keep the damp at bay.

I turned to Maurice with a glass of whisky when he asked:

„Don‘t you fear for your books? We really have a problem with that in our cottage. We live in the woods, too, you see, and the books crinkle somewhat badly, especially in the summer. Alec sometimes lays them out into the sun, that helps some, but – what do you do about it?“

„Well, I am in the luxurious position to own two houses“ - I shrugged my shoulders apologetically - „and one day, I just decided to have two sets of books. A very wonderful luxury, though I don‘t know if it helps with your concerns.“

 

Maurice stood at my desk, eyeing my notebooks, the notepad I prepared my next speech on, and the chosen books I always kept there.

„You are working here?“

„Yes. The house is big, as you know, but I‘ve no peace of mind there. Need to come here from time to time. Time spent writing here is so much more effective.“

„I heard you have six children?“

„Well, yes, I do. Or rather: we do.“

He nodded. His hands graced my books again:

„I say – isn‘t this the edition of the „Symposium“ you lent me at college?“

He touched the slim red volume. I felt my cheeks turn hot.

„Yes, it is. Usually, I keep my valuable books in the house, but this one...“ I looked at him. How kind his eyes were. „This one is – special. We both had our hands on it...“

My voice trailed off.

„I know.“ He turned to me and touched my hand again. I hadn‘t been touched as much in years as in the last minutes. It felt good, and it frightened me. „Though I like the „Phaidros“ better now.“

„You still read Plato?“, I asked astonished.

„Yes, we do. Actually, Alec likes it.“

I raised my eyebrows in utter amazement:

„Scudder likes Plato?“

„Yes, he does“, Maurice said decidedly. „I mean, not all the time – sometimes, we enjoy novels as well. But you know, the nights are long in the woods, and we enjoy reading to each other.“

„Really?“ I felt a strange tinge of jealousy. Reading together seemed so much more intimate than – well.

„And I guess we read it as Plato was meant to be read – in bed, sometimes naked, sometimes between...“ He smirked again. I had a sudden vision of Scudder, naked in dim light, crowned with ivy, swollen, senusal lips smiling invitingly, and felt myself blush again. Maurice ruffled my hair:

„Still blushing so much? Father of six children?“

I pushed him away: „That‘s different.“

He nodded meaningfully, a bit mockingly: „So I see.“

 

We needed some time to recover. The short hour when I had sun in the Goblin House seemed near – a tiny slate of it already graced the floor and would soon wander over my desk. We both took a sip from our glasses and maintained some amiable silence. This was also a sign that you found your other half: being able to be silent together.

 

Maurice strolled relaxed through the room, touched the sofa, looked out of the window and stopped at the staircase:

„And, upstairs – is it still the same?“

„Basically, yes.“

„Can I“ - he hesitated - „is it all right if I have a look?“

„Suit yourself“, I answered. He put his glass on a low cabinet and started to climb the narrow staircase. My first impulse was to stay behind, let him look around and turn back after a minute or so. I waited for what seemed minutes, hearing him shuffling around, watching the sun wandering farther on the floor. He sighed audibly. Curious, but concerned also, I called:

„Everything all right?“

„Yes, yes. I am just a bit – overcome, I guess. Why don‘t you come up.“

 

I didn‘t want to open this. I really didn‘t. At the same time, I never wanted anything as much as being in that room with him again. Slowly, I joined him. We stood in the smallish, round room, dominated by the bed. I had some shelves here also, a nightstand, a chair – much more comfort than my grandfathers had had.

„It looks – in use?“, Maurice gazed at me askingly.

„Yes“, I admitted. He put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looked at me. I felt awkward:

„You see, all this noise in the house… The children, their cousins, always puppies… I needed a place to rest.“

 

The truth was: I had avoided this secret bedroom for years. First, I wanted to ban every memory of our nights there. Then I feared the sweetness of those memories. I missed Maurice more with every year, every new child. This was not the life I wanted. Outwardly, it seemed fine, splendid even. Inwardly, I started to fathom what I had given up. An immense void opened up in front of me, and one afternoon I forgot all restraints, climbed the stairs and collapsed on the bed, crying for everything I had lost. I lay on the bare mattress, remembered our gentle and wild lovemaking and wept as much as I hadn‘t in a long time. Afterwards, I fell asleep on the very mattress and had the sweetest dreams ever, comforting and healing. I started to take furtive naps up there, just with a blanket and nothing else, until I awoke one chilly November evening with icy feet and a cold nose-tip. But at the same time: happy and deeply refreshed. It was pitch-dark around me, as dark as it only can be in the woods after sunset, and I embraced and welcomed the darkness. It reminded me of the last time I saw Maurice, though the summer night was balmy and scented with evening primroses. He had always been one to accept darkness so graciously, the one around us and the secret one inside of him. I had this dark side also, always had had it, but I was never brave enough to embrace it. I had fought so many battles with myself that I felt utterly drained. Here, in the dark woods, inside the little temple of our former love, I finally felt at ease. I wouldn‘t separate this side of me from my whole being anymore. Would never succumb to it as I had done with Maurice, but – acknowldge it somehow. Come here, in my welcome twilight solitude, and be whole for the first time in my life. 

So I decided to make the unused upstairs into a real bedroom. I slept better there than anywhere else. I just told Anne so – she is extremely understanding and good-humoured, even if always a bit distracted by the next bruised knee or wobbly tooth – had the maids bring bedding and blankets and even started to spend the occasional night there. Thus, the Goblin House became my ultimate sanctuary.

 

„I see. Is it only you sleeping here?“

„Yes. That‘s my very own bed.“

He smiled: „May I?“, indicating the bed. I nodded casually and he sat down on the edge. Maurice on this bed again – a dagger in my heart couldn‘t have felt worse. 

„I reckon it‘s not the same mattress any more?“, he smirked.

„Yes, it is“, I had to admit. His eyebrows shot up. „I wanted to keep it.“ 

He looked at me vastly astonished. „After all this time?“

„I had to defend it! Fight for it, believe me!“ He chuckled. „Womankind always want to change everything, renovate, decorate, do it differently, out with the old – I almost needed my gun to defend it!“

I sat down beside him and we laughed.

„I told Anne she can change as much as she likes in the house, but not the tiniest bit here. She claims it‘s not hygienic, musty and disgusting to have such an old mattress, but I told her it‘s a family heirloom and she could remove it only over my dead body.“

Maurice smiled some more and patted the bed. He became serious again:

„So… this is still…?“

 

I nodded and swallowed. I looked at the floor. The sun was coming up here also, slowly. We would have the most lovely light soon. I sighed and looked at Maurice, having felt his intense gaze on me all the time.

„So you still remember… our nights here...“ His voice became soft and trailed away. I nodded again, biting my lip a bit. We were silent some more until I said:

„I need at least something tangible. For god‘s sake. I missed you so much. It hurt bodily how much I missed you.“

I looked at him. The pain in my heart must have been visible on my face because Maurice frowned concerned. He moved to get closer but I shook my head. We stayed side by side until he said:

„Don‘t you have my letters anymore?“

I shook my head: „Burned them when I married. Do you still have mine?“

„Not all. Some.“ He looked at me. I imagined him sorting through my letters, selecting the ones dear to his heart, and felt a pang. „I kept the poem you wrote for me.“

„Oh, Maurice“, I moaned. I couldn‘t but turn towards him and put my hands around him. He welcomed me in a warm embrace and tenderly stroked my shoulders:

„Come here. Rest a bit. Shhh, I got you. Just come here.“

I sighed loudly and leaned into him. How good it felt to be touched, to be held. He continued to stroke me. I could hear his heart, strong and slow. How calm he was. An anchor to save me from drowning. 

 

We stayed like that for a long time. I watched the sun wander on the floor and wondered when I had been held like that for the last time. Must have been with him. Anne and I had had separate bedrooms almost from the beginning, especially since she started to breastfeed practically non-stop. We had the occasional encounter – very rare in the last years - , but I knew warmth, laying or even sleeping in the arms of somebody only from memory. Anne always had some child or puppy or both in her bed, so I hoped she wouldn‘t feel as depraved as I was. And depraved I was – I realized only now when feeling some human warmth around me. 

Finally, I sighed and looked up, entangling me partly from his arms:

„Thank you. I cannot say how wonderful that felt.“

„Don‘t thank me!“, he said, almost shocked. „Clive. Dear Clive. You know I would do anything for you.“

I felt my eyes get misty. I had treated him so badly, and – here he was, adhering so much more than I to the ideals I had claimed to have of male friendships. There was nothing sensual, erotic or otherwise slippery to our touch, just the pure, ideal friendship I always had been looking for. He really had read his Plato, to be sure. He stroked my cheek and I felt the first tears running down my cheeks. Here he was, my soulmate, my ideal companion, and I had pushed him away from me so harshly because I mistook his love for something else. Was too conceited to be brave with him. I tried to get up as I cried harder, but he held me and pulled me back onto the bed again and into his arms. I hiccuped, hid my face at his shoulder and cried unashamedly. Once started, I couldn‘t stop. 

 

When I calmed down some, he gently touched my face to lift it:

„Clive, my love. Are you not happy?“

I shook my head violently and didn‘t say anything.

„You seem to have everything you ever wished for. You have a perfect life, don‘t you?“

I shook my head again:

„No. I lost you.“

„You didn‘t lose me, what are you talking about?“

„Well, we haven‘t seen each other in twenty years. Twentyone years. I didn‘t even know if you were alive anymore!“ 

„I thought that‘s what you wanted? A clear, proper ending? No more ghosts from the past in your new perfect life?“

„Oh Maurice. I am so sorry to have treated you like that.“

Maurice handed me a handkerchief and tenderly wiped the tears from my cheeks with a finger:

„You were in panic. Afraid of your own feelings which you thought to be wrong ones. But love – love is never wrong.“

I had started to blow my nose, but new tears welled up. I looked at him, a terrible mess, to be sure.

„You wanted a clean slate. No muddle. You were young and impulsive. You thought you needed to decide for once and ever, so you were a bit strict. But – there is more to life, you know. Human relationships are complex and polyphon. You can have more than one important person in your life.“ He touched my cheek again and wiped some moistness from my chin, so lovingly and soft that I would remember his touch forever. „I am not proposing anything indecent, especially not here“ - we both smiled a sad, weary smile - „but – I don‘t know. You seem starved. Not in a carnal way, or not only, forgive me for saying so, but – can it be you lack a companion? Someone to share your worries with, and your joys?“

„There are not many joys“, I replied desperately.

„Oh Clive. There should be.“

I let my head fall on his strong shoulder again.

„Maybe you shouldn‘t bury yourself in this little house in the woods? Go out more?“

„No, thanks, I am out and about and socialising more than enough. Really. That‘s not what I need.“

Maurice nodded. I wiped my nose again, touching his handkerchief as if it were a relic of the Holy Cross.

„May I keep your handkerchief?“

His eyes became wide – still so wonderfully blue – but he smiled:

„You are welcome to.“

I put my hand on his warm hand. Still so warm, like in old times.

„I will wash it with my own hands and keep it here. Always.“

He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. Abruptely, he turned and rummaged in a pocket of his jacket. He retrieved his hand and put something small into my hand. I opened it: a small, pink stone in the shape of a bean, smooth and perfect.

„I always look for pretty stones. This one has been in my jacket for years. It‘s small, but it‘s tangible, at least.“ I closed my fingers around it and leaned in to kiss the side of his neck, very quickly. I felt awkward, but – nothing happened. No tingle, no desire. I was glad we had reached this mature level of affection, far away from the wild passion of our former nights here. Pure friendship.

 

Maurice looked at me kindly and put his hand on mine and the stone inside it:

„I really think you need a friend, dear.“

I shrugged, watching the sun grace his still beautiful face and turn his hair to gold.

„There was a time I desperately wanted to be your lover. As you know“, he continued, calm and without reproach. „Now, I would love to be your friend. If you still want me.“

Again, I felt ashamed at his great goodheartedness.

„Oh Maurice“, I sighed. „How can you still be so good to me? After all?“

„Because I love you“, he said simply. „No need to cry again, now come on!“ He tousled my hair and I smiled weakly.

I pressed his hand and muttered:

„I would feel honoured to have a friend like you. But what good is it if we meet every twenty years?“

„Oh, I didn‘t come to telling you: we will be around more often. Alec‘s sister is moving into his parent‘s house and there are some repairs to be done. Besides, his nieces and nephews saw him for the first time and they worship him. You should see him with children – it‘s such a joy. He always longed for this sort of life, you now. Much more a family man than me. And he‘s tired of hiding. Was quite afraid of his father and insecure about his mother, but now, with both of them gone… His sisters didn‘t ask many questions about me. I saw them twice, but they seem… Well, I don‘t know what he told them. If anything. But he said he wanted to see his family more from now on. And I might come and see you on these Sundays.“

„And you think he would be fine with this? Sounds like a – rather strange arrangement, doesn‘t it?“

„No. He knows what you meant to me.“ I raised my eyebrows – all the more a reason not to get involved again. „He has got a similar friend from – the past, so to say. A chap who played the role you had in my life in his youth. He still lives in Osmington, we met him at the pub only last week. He‘s so sweet, and they still get along so well.“

„And you don‘t mind?“

„No, why should I? It‘s normal in our age to have a past, isn‘t it? It‘s not threatening. No need to burn all bridges like certain people think it‘s necessary...“ He lightly slapped me.

I caught his hand and kissed it:

„I would love to have you as a friend, Maurice.“

He nodded, leaned in and kissed my cheek, lingering a bit too long before and after the kiss, as if inhaling the essence of me.

„Quits, and I‘ll go“, he smiled. I put an arm around his shoulder and kissed him even longer, indulging in every second I had his golden, soft skin under my lips, opening my eyes to capture every fraction of him, his hair shining in the sun, some small stubbles, his eye lashes. I hadn‘t kissed and been kissed as much as today in my whole marriage, it seemed. One more gentle press of my lips and I tore myself away.

Maurice got up and stood in front of me. The sun was behind him. He glowed like an apparition. He leaned down to get my head one more lighthearted stroke when I wrapped my arms around his legs once more and he, losing his balance, stumbled into my embrace. I pressed him to me and laid my head onto his stomach. He endured my surge of affection patiently for a few seconds until he whispered:

„Guess I really should go. All right?“

I stood up, still hugging him. Without having planned so, my hands slid down and rested on his hips. I realized only when they had arrived there that this was almost a quote from the past. He must have noticed also, because he smiled at me with raised eyebrows. 

„Sorry. They do this on their own“, I mumbled, patting his still lovely, slim hips. I smirked:

„I‘ll walk you to the end of the park. Come on.“

**Author's Note:**

> "That rotten Plato" - chapter 16, page 85 in my Penguin edition
> 
> Inspiration: the five seconds in the movie when Clive and Maurice are embracing each other in front of the (symbolically?) locked door of the Goblin House


End file.
